


Boy Meets Girl

by amandajoyce118



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, Christmas Eve, Simmons family, rom com
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-12 01:55:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5649454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandajoyce118/pseuds/amandajoyce118
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes when you meet someone, there’s a click.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Girl On The Train

Boy Meets Girl

-o-

_Sometimes when you meet someone, there’s a click. I don’t believe in love at first sight but I believe in that click. Recognition.  - Ann Aguirre_

-o-

The Girl On The Train

-o-

Fitz slumped in his coveted seat. Bitterly cold and with an hour long train ride ahead of him, he had no intention of standing for the trip home. Instead, he was content to keep his chin tucked securely under his scarf and pretend to be half asleep so no one would bother him.

A group of businessmen with sludge on their shoes and too-expensive briefcases in their hands boarded at the next stop, their eyes roving around for empty seats. He tucked his chin in further and made himself appear glued to his chair. He made sure he and his backpack took up the maximum amount of room, not wanting one of them to take a seat and the rest to crowd around, holding on to railings and bars for balance. He rolled his eyes at the prospect of boring boardroom conversations or worse, office gossip, from the men who probably forgot to pick up Christmas gifts for their wives. They made their way further into the train without incident though, and he settled in for the long haul.

He closed his eyes at some point well into his trip, listening to the sounds of a little girl reciting her Christmas list to her exasperated older brother (I  _know you want the new Black Widow action figure, okay?_ ), a woman yelling an old family recipe into her cell phone ( _No, I said two cups of walnuts! Are you stupid?_ ), and a man trying desperately to switch his flight ( _Look, my wife is going to kill me if I’m stuck here another three days._ ).

Ah, the holidays.

If he was honest with himself, the only thing he liked about the holidays was his mother’s gingerbread cookies and that shortbread she made with a whiskey glaze. His mouth watered just thinking about it. He could take or leave the nosy neighbors just “poppin’ in for a cuppa before headin’ into town,” content with his mum’s company and her cooking for the five days he’d get to go home. In just under 13 hours, he’d be on his way.

It wasn’t the sound of his shifting backpack that alerted him that someone had taken the other half of his seat at the market stop, but the sudden scent of peppermint and chocolate that hit him. He cautiously cracked open one eye and saw a pretty (okay, fine, he could admit that she was gorgeous) woman who was carefully easing his bag onto the floor between their feet while she balanced a green paper coffee cup in her other hand. The strap from her own bag slid precariously down her shoulder to the crook of her arm, the bag itself swinging dangerously close to the hot chocolate she was carrying around.

With a sigh, Fitz opened both eyes and reached forward, sliding his bag in front of his own feet and moving himself closer to the window seat at the same time.

“Oh, thank you! I’m sorry. I didn’t know if you were asleep… though really, I wouldn’t recommend sleeping on the train; do you know how many people have their things stolen?”

“About one in six hundred, closer to one in six hundred an’ sixteen if you wanna be accurate,” he responded promptly. “An’ I was watchin’ it.”

She adjusted her bag in her lap and took a sip from her drink to hide her smile, but he still saw it. She had a pretty smile. He was momentarily tongue tied because of it, but he recovered enough for his mouth to start working before his brain could catch up with it.

“Statistically speakin’, you’re more likely to drop that an’ scald someone when the train makes a sharp turn or hits rubbish on the line than I am o’ havin’ my stuff stolen.” Nodding when he finished speaking, he turned away from her to check how far along the line they were. Just three more stops, and then he’d be home to pack and he could forget all about sounding like an idiot on the train. He assumed their conversation was done by the way her jaw had dropped and her cheeks had turned pink underneath her toque, but apparently not.

“Well, I stood in line for nearly 20 minutes to be able to get something warm to drink before I had to wait on the platform for the train, so I wasn’t getting rid of it when I boarded.”

“Didn’t say you had to.”

“Right.”

They sat in silence as the train pulled to a stop and people came and went in waves. There was some sort of tension stretching between them, and Fitz was overcome with the urge to apologize for snapping at her, something he didn’t usually find himself even entertaining the idea of when he rubbed someone the wrong way or when his own anxiety got the better of him. His eyes flicked to her scarf where he could see the knitted pattern of sugar molecules. It was _sweet_ , he thought, then tried not to laugh at his own joke.

One man, clearly having had a little too much eggnog if his smell was anything to go by, stood out from the crowd of people that were on their own way home. He leaned against the railing nearest their shared seat, his unfocused eyes trying their best to zero in on Fitz’s seatmate.

“You got any plans for the holiday?” The alcohol-infused man asked her, taking a step closer to her personal space.

Fitz could tell she was trying not to be intimidated or to look off balance, but he also felt it when her muscles pulled taut in the seat, even though she had carefully kept a few inches of space between them.

“I do,” she told the man sharply before taking a sip of her drink and turning her head slightly in Fitz’s direction. Fitz told himself not to jump when she pressed her side securely against his. She wasn’t suggesting anything to him, just to the idiot hitting on her. He relaxed in his seat, his knee pressing against hers as the guy in front of them rolled his eyes.

Fitz pulled in a slow breath and made a decision, lifting his arm and stretching it around her shoulders, letting her fall slightly into him, his hand pressing into her shoulder.

“Pfft. Suit yourself, sweetheart.” The man gave a belch and maneuvered his way farther down the car.

Fitz wasn’t sure if he should move his arm or not. It didn’t feel altogether uncomfortable. And now that he was closer to her, he could smell more than just the chocolate and peppermint. Her perfume was subtle and flowery, a little bit of spring in the dead of winter. But he didn’t want to seem like he was taking advantage of the situation, so he let go of her shoulder and relaxed his arm on her seatback, neither of them saying anything for a few moments.

“Thanks for that,” she said when they hit a bump on the track and he had to remove his arm to grab his bag before it skittered away. It was only when the shrill tones of “Jingle Bells” echoed from the bag in her lap that she said anything else. “Sorry, sorry,” she mumbled as people began to turn and look in their direction. “Bloody Skye. I should never have let her borrow my phone.” Fitz snorted as she shoved her cup in his direction. “Could you? Please?”

His fingers seemed to close around the cup automatically as she began rooting around in her bag, the music getting louder and louder with every lyric. He stifled a smile when a little boy a few seats away began singing along. It somehow made the piercing tone of the song much less annoying.

“Mum!” She yelped as she finally pulled the phone from her bag and accepted the call. “I’m sorry, but I’m on the train, so I’ll probably lose you soon. I’ll call you when I’m home?” She was quiet for a moment, and Fitz kept an eye on her reflection in the glass so it didn’t seem like he was staring right at her, even though he was. She had lovely eyes and the way she was chewing on one nail distractedly was somehow adorable. “Yes, mum. I know. I remember.” She rolled her eyes, exasperation lining her features. “Yes. Okay. We’re heading into a tunnel. Bye!”

“You know, we’re not actually headin’ into a tunnel for another two miles.”

She turned the ringer off on her phone before unceremoniously dropping it into her bag. “Do you always chastise perfect strangers for lying to their mothers?”

“Only at Christmas.” He handed her beverage back to her, wondering how it could be that her gloved hands were warmer on his bare fingers than the cup had been. “‘sides, we’re apparently dating now.”

She colored again, and rolled her eyes. “Big fan of the holiday, then?”

“Actually, no. But lyin’ at Christmas just seems wrong.”

She laughed behind her cup again, and he smiled at her. She glanced up at the route map as if counting stops, so Fitz turned back to the window while the train moved on. Unaccustomed to having to share a seat on his way home from work, he searched for something to talk to her about that was more interesting than statistics on train passengers.

“It’s not that I don’t like my mother,” she explained, cutting off his train of thought just as he had opened his mouth to comment on the weather. “It’s just that every time I’ve spoken to her for the last month, she’s reminded me to bring home my grandmother’s teapot for Christmas. It just seems ridiculous to pack it up and take it all the way over to her because it goes so nicely with the dinnerware, only to have her insist that I bring it back with me because my grandmother wanted me to have it after the holiday is over.” He returned his gaze to her just as she shook her head. “Add to that her insistence that I find someone to fill the odd seat at the table because everyone else is bringing someone, and she makes me want to drown her in the tea she’ll be making.”

Her voice had risen with every word, and a woman in front of them got up and quickly scurried off the train at the next stop.

“Obviously, I would never actually drown my mother in tea,” she told Fitz in a harsh whisper, leaning her head in close to his.

“Obviously,” Fitz agreed with a slight chuckle.

“You heading home for the holidays, then?” Her mouth created a sudden _oh_ and she appeared to cringe before rushing through, “Unless you don’t celebrate Christmas, but you did mention lying at Christmas before-”

“What makes you think this isn’t home?” He added a teasing grin for good measure. _Was he flirting with her_ ? Was this how people did this? The better question was, _was it working_?

“Oh, I see. So the Scottish accent? Is that just for show?” Her eyes sparkled as she tapped the top of her cup with one finger and shifted in her seat.

“Well,” he began, affecting the American accent he had grown up trying to perfect. “You tell me. Which one sounds real?”

“Definitely the Scottish.”

Unable to stop the grin from growing ever larger on his face, he nodded. “Yeah. Scottish.” He gave a slight chuckle.

“Your American’s pretty good though. Do you practice in the mirror,” she joked, leaning closer still.

“Maybe.” He didn’t, but he could feel his cheeks flushing at the thought of her picturing him practicing an accent. “Mostly picked it up from television.”

“Well, there is a lot of American TV back home.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“So… home?” She prompted, raising her eyebrows again.

“Oh, erm, yeah. I catch a flight tomorrow.”

“Me too!” Her whole face lit up in excitement as she started asking him questions about his flight, but the expression on his face must have made her think she had taken a step too far. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” She shook her head quickly, the hand not holding on to her drink coming up to rub her neck, making her bag slide across her lap as the train turned. She quickly dropped her hand to catch it just as Fitz did and she shyly smiled her thanks. “It’s just not often I meet someone from home. Well, not from home, obviously. You’re from Scotland.” She wrapped her fingers tightly around the strap of her bag with one hand and brought her cup up to her mouth with the other, clearly in an attempt to hide her face.

Fitz couldn’t help but think she looked adorable with the slight embarrassment on her features.

“‘s fine, really.” He shifted in his seat as the train began to slow. “Jus’... this is me.”

“Oh! Oh. Right.” She stood awkwardly, moving out of his way as he stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Well, it was nice… having someone to chat with on the train.”

“Yeah, it was nice meeting you, erm -”

“Jemma.”

“Fitz.” He watched her for the length of time it took the train to come to a complete stop. He wasn’t sure if he should shake her hand or something else. A part of him wanted to ask for her number, but his tongue seemed to tie in his mouth at the very idea of asking, and really, he knew nothing about this woman. A pretty smile, talk of home, and some flirting (that had all been flirting, hadn’t it?) didn’t mean he should expect a phone number. Instead, he licked his lips anxiously and said, “enjoy your holiday.”

He was almost certain he imagined it when her smile faltered slightly.

“Yes. You too.”

He hunched his shoulders in preparation for the cold and navigated his way through the crowd of people laden with holiday shopping and takeout containers. There were a few people rolling luggage, and he dodged them expertly before hitting a staircase and running to the upper level where the wind bit and the cold sunk right into his bones. Of course, that was probably because he was wearing his light winter coat and he hadn’t put his hat back on. He reached a hand into his pocket, pulling out his hat and stretching it across the top of his head. Gloves from another pocket followed, and he pulled them on while he walked.

Trudging along through the wind and with ice crunching underfoot, he didn’t hear the yelling at first.

“Fitz! Fitz!”

He spun on his heels to see the woman from the train - Jemma, he corrected himself - jogging down the block toward him, her boots slipping on the ice every so often. When she caught up to him she panted for a moment, her breath crystallizing as she puffed in the the air in front of her.

“Hello,” she told him with a breathless little laugh.

“Hi.” He clenched his hands into fists at his sides before nervously uncurling his fingers and tapping them on his thighs. “I thought you - erm - that wasn’t your stop?”

“No, it wasn’t. But… well, I said it was nice talking with you, and it was. And I thought, if you’re anything like me and maybe you get bored with your family over the holidays, or you… I don’t know...  Anyway, I don’t usually do this. And I’m not one of those people who says that and actually does always do this…”

She babbled while she fished around in her bag, emerging with a bright red marker and hastily scrawling something on the sleeve of her coffee cup before recapping it, pulling the cardboard away and dropping the cup in a nearby bin. She thrust the coffee cup sleeve in his direction and he reflexively reached out his hand to take it from her, finding a sequence of numbers written underneath her name in a delicate script.

Fitz stared at the sleeve without comprehending what he was actually seeing. He glanced back and forth between the cardboard and Jemma, trying to figure out what was happening. Women didn’t just give him their number. Ever. Even after mild flirting. The way she was shifting her weight and pulling on her sleeves made her look supremely nervous, and he didn’t want her to think he didn’t want her number, so he tried to think of something to say to her.

“Erm - thank you?”

“Oh. Well, you’re welcome.” She gestured with the marker to the sleeve. “No pressure or anything, really.” She shook her head, her nose crinkling up. He hoped she wasn’t already regretting giving him her number.

Before Fitz could change his mind, he reached out for her hand and took the marker from it, removing the cap and scribbling his own information on the opposite side of the cardboard sleeve, ripping it in half, then recapping the marker and handing them both back to her with something like a bow. It was his turn to cringe.

“No pressure,” he echoed with a slow smile, trying to forget that he had just dipped his head like he was greeting royalty or something.

Jemma placed them both in her bag with a pleased hum. “I suppose I’ll talk to you soon then?”

“Yeah. Soon.” His smiled widened. His face was probably going to be sore after meeting this girl. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled so much or so wide. “Definitely.”

-o-


	2. The Girl In The Airport

The Girl In The Airport

-o-

_People who meet in airports are seventy-two percent more likely to fall for each other than people who meet anywhere else. - Jennifer E. Smith_

-o-

No matter how long he had to sit and wait anywhere for _anything_ , Fitz was rarely bored. His mind usually whirred a mile a minute and he was frequently planning out papers, experiments, and grant requests while he was standing in line for coffee or dropping tokens for a bus. Sitting in the hard plastic chair at the airport after his plane had landed though, his mind was screaming for something else to do. He was supposed to be on holiday, he had to keep reminding himself.

Of course, he hadn't anticipated his connecting flight being delayed on said holiday, and he only had his phone (with, of course, a healthy battery life of his own design) to keep him busy. He thumbed over to his text messages where he had made sure to let his mother know not to arrive at the airport in Edinburgh anytime soon since he was still stuck in Manchester - where he had been for hours. The snow falling outside meant that it would be impossible for him to hire a car and there was nothing else leaving until the next morning.

There was Jemma's name, three messages down, with a smiley face emoji, wishing him a Happy Holidays and reminding him that she was, in fact, the Jemma he had met the day before, even though they had also both exchanged messages for safe travels earlier that day and he wasn't likely to forget who she was that quickly. He typed out a reply, wishing her the same, and apologizing for not responding sooner as he was on his flight. He almost went back and deleted the whole thing, considering he shouldn't apologize since he'd _only just met her_ , but it seemed polite, even if he doubted she was anxiously awaiting his reply. He hit "send" before he could change his mind, and then climbed to his feet, slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder and wandering through the busy terminals to find himself the holy grail for weary travelers - an airport bar.

He was seated at a table, his bag taking up the other seat, and sipping on his pint when his phone buzzed with an incoming message.

_Don't worry about it. I just touched down myself._

A beat, and then another message popped up before he could think of a reply.

_Obviously, I mean the plane touched down. Landed. Not anything weird._

Fitz tried to cough down his laughter and only ended up snorting some of his beer for his trouble, his face bright red while he imagined the mortification on her face when she thought he would think their messages had taken a new turn. Not that he would have entirely minded that. He shook his head to clear it.

_On your way home then?_

He typed with one hand while wiping his nose with the other, trying to appear calm and collected as other travelers walked by his table.

_Not yet. Going to grab horrible airport food first. My mother's cooking is usually even worse._

Fitz chewed on his lip for a moment, trying to decide what else to say before realizing if she was still in an airport, there was a good chance they were currently texting in the very same airport. He gulped down the rest of his pint for a little liquid courage before sending his next message.

_You should try O'Learys. I hear they've got decent appetizers._

He flicked the little standing menu on his table while he waited for her reply, but nothing came.

"You want another?" A gruff voice asked him as the employee walked by.

"Erm. Yeah. Sure."

The man picked up his empty glass and moved back behind the bar while Fitz stared down at his phone, willing the screen to light back up. He ran one hand through his hair and blew out a breath in agitation. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. Maybe he should have just left it alone and kept to pleasantries. Maybe she didn't want to see him just yet. Maybe she had just been polite when she engaged him in conversation. Maybe -

His bag plopped to the ground as a suitcase was rolled up next to his table, and there she was, seated across from him and somehow looking perfect, not like she had just spent half of her day on a plane. Fitz's jaw dropped and her smile fell.

"That _was_ an invitation, wasn't it?" She asked worriedly.

"Yeah. Yes! Sorry. I was jus' - thinking. Yeah. I was thinking. Didn't realize you were you. Here." Fitz nodded hurriedly, trying to make himself make more sense. "Was - erm - was your flight alright, then?"

"No crying babies for 12 hours and no engine trouble, always a plus," Jemma told him with a shy smile. When the waiter stopped back by his table, she gestured to Fitz's pint. "Could I have one as well, please? And, um -" She picked up the menu and gave it a cursory glance. "How do you feel about chips, Fitz?"

"Love them. Who doesn't?"

"And an order of chips too."

The man nodded his head and left them alone. While Fitz tapped the side of his pint glass awkwardly, Jemma pulled her cardigan from her arms to hang it on the back of her chair. She seemed oblivious to his nerves now that she knew he had actually invited her.

"For an airport pub, this place isn't so bad."

Jemma raised an eyebrow at his announcement, and he thought he might have said the wrong thing. "Been to a lot of airport pubs?" There was a lilt to her tone and a quirk to her lips that let him know she was teasing, so he decided to go with it.

"Yeah. 'course. This one, by far the cleanest pint glasses I've ever seen." He raised his glass in a mock toast just as hers was set down in front of her.

She lifted it and clinked their glasses together before taking a sip. Closing her eyes after, she sighed.

"Good?"

"Tastes like home," she remarked, setting it back on the surface of the plastic table. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, dipping her head slightly. "So… are you waiting for a connection? Or are you here for Christmas?"

"Waitin'. My flight got delayed."

"Aw. That's awful. I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. Unless - was the snow your doin'?"

She laughed. "No, afraid I can't take credit for that one."

The shrill notes of "Jingle Bells" blared from the top of her suitcase where her purse was resting. She rolled her eyes.

"Surprised you didn't change that since you seem to hate it."

"I like Christmas carols," she protested unconvincingly. "And my friend Skye may have somehow locked me out of my own ringtone settings?"

He barked out his own laugh as she dug into one of the pockets for her phone and turned the volume off. "Don't you need to get that?"

"Oh, no. It's my brother. He can wait. He probably just wants to escape my mother's clutches. Wants to know when I'm getting in, no doubt. But… we're having a drink."

The nerves Fitz had been feeling melted away at that. "Right then, should we get to the small talk portion of drinks?"

"Is that not what we've been doing?" She propped her elbow on the table and placed her chin in her hand. "I must be very out of practice."

"'s alright. We're just warmin' up."

They exchanged smiles at that, and Fitz watched her eyes as they traveled over his face, like she was memorizing him.

"Okay then," she informed him, "ask me anything you want."

He leaned back in his seat and narrowed his gaze as if studying her, liking the way her eyes shone in excitement and her lips parted in anticipation. He wanted to know everything, and he didn't really know where to start. Placing his hands on the arms of his seat, he tapped out a rhythm and smiled when she raised her eyebrows.

"Favorite food?"

She sighed and sat up. "So typical." She took another sip of her beer and pretended to think. "Truffle fries."

"Never had 'em."

"Well, I'll have to take you to a real restaurant so you can try them," she responded as she placed her glass back down, not meeting his eyes.

Fitz's grin threatened to crack his face right in half. He quickly tamped it down though when she looked back up. "Your turn."

"When does your flight leave?" she questioned coyly.

"Dunno. Everything going out's been canceled until at least tomorrow. They haven't rescheduled mine yet." He shrugged, trying to play it off like it was no big deal.

"Hmm. Christmas Eve alone in an airport doesn't sound all that fun," she mused just as their chips were placed in the center of the table.

"I'm not alone now."

"True. Your turn."

She reached forward and plucked a chip from the plate, and Fitz followed her example, biting and chewing while he thought of another question. The voices of other angry travelers grounded for the evening echoed around them, but Fitz tuned them all out and focused in on Jemma.

"If you were an animal, wha' would you be?"

"Ooh, right for the good stuff, huh?" Jemma gestured at him with a chip. "If I tell you, you have to tell me."

"Done."

She took a bite from the potato and chewed for a moment, leaving him in anticipation before she finally told him, "A dragonfish. But not just any. I'd like to be one of the ones that are so deep underwater people never interact with them. They're practically fearless. And they have this fascinating kind of bioluminescence…"

She went on for nearly ten minutes about the creatures, and Fitz, quite frankly, found them alarming. He wouldn't want to come face to face with them, especially after she pulled up picture after picture of them on her phone, most of them artists' sketches. At some point during her show and tell, she had scooted her chair around the side of the table to press in closer to him, and that was worth the pictures of the horrible looking fish. After the third time he'd grimaced at a sketch though, thinking she wouldn't catch it, her lips twitched in amusement.

"Not your favorite animal then," she said with a laugh, closing up the image on her phone just as it started to vibrate again, alerting her to another phone call, this time from Skye. She hit ignore.

"Uh, no."

She pulled her phone in closer and quickly typed out a text message as she asked, "What about you, then?"

"A monkey."

"A monkey," she echoed, her laughter softening into an easy smile. "Any kind in particular?"

It was Fitz who started pulling up images on his phone of some of his favorites then - capuchin, spider monkeys, and the like. To his surprise, she was genuinely interested in the monkey talk, and they spent nearly 20 minutes just discussing the value of prehensile tails and how interesting it would be if humans had them.

"Can you imagine, that bartender," Jemma whispered, leaning in close, "having a tail? Think of how many more drinks he could serve in an hour? The productivity increase alone would be amazing."

"He's averagin' about 40 in an hour now. I'd say he could easily double that with the help of a tail," Fitz agreed, his forehead bumping hers when he turned.

He heard her take in a quick breath at their proximity, and he just stopped himself from jumping away since she didn't seem particularly alarmed at this turn of events. Her phone buzzed on the table again in front of her though, and she rolled her eyes as she pulled away. Fitz caught a glimpse of the message on the screen, again from Skye:

_Is he cute? You didn't tell me if he was cute._

He shot his eyes back to Jemma, trying to appear as though he had no interest whatsoever in what her reply was, but based on her smirk without even looking at him, she knew he was paying attention.

_Very._

Fitz's face flushed when she hit send and he hid his grin behind one hand, pretending to scratch at the stubble on his cheek.

"Your brother checkin' on you again?" he asked nonchalantly.

"No, just my friend Skye. She's curious about who I've been chatting up at the airport."

"Discussin' monkeys is chattin' me up?" he joked as their eyes met.

"Seems to be working," Jemma teased.

He ducked his head bashfully. "Yeah…"

Jemma laughed lightly again, and Fitz was pretty sure he'd never get tired of it. He opened his mouth, though he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say, when their waiter came by to see if they wanted more drinks.

"Oh." Jemma and Fitz glanced at one another and her smile became tinged with regret. "Actually, nothing for me, thank you. I've got to get going soon."

"None for me either," Fitz agreed, passing over his credit card to settle the tab.

Jemma waited until the waiter had made his way back to the register at the bar before she started speaking again.

"It's a pity to spend your holiday in the airport." She stared straight ahead at the table across from them as Fitz made a murmur of agreement. "And we _are_ having a good time, yeah?"

"Yeah. Absolutely." He nodded his head fervently, watching her, even though she still wasn't looking at him.

"So… what are you doing for the rest of the night, then?" She rushed through the question before turning to him and staring at a point above his head. "Because you can say no, obviously, but it seems a shame for you to stay here. You could come with me for Christmas Eve dinner, even if it ends up being rubbish, and I can drop you back off at the airport in the morning to make your flight."

His mouth dropped open and he hesitated in his response, which must have made her think he was going to say no, because she immediately wrinkled her nose as she met his stare. The only thing reverberating in his head was _I can drop you back off at the airport in the morning_ , which seemed to indicate that she wasn't just inviting him to a family dinner.

"It's jus… won't your family wonder who I am? You can't tell them you brought a stranger home from the airport, can you?"

"Well, we're hardly strangers. You know I want to be a dragonfish, after all. I don't tell just anyone that… and we did tell that man on the train we would be spending the holiday together, remember?" She tapped his arm carefully with one finger as his credit card and receipt were brought back to him.

"I do remember that, yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand as he signed for their cheque with the other.

"As I recall, you seemed to indicate that we were dating…" She trailed off.

"Well, I mean, that was jus' -"

"Relax, Fitz. I'm kidding." She patted his arm reassuringly as he put his card back in his wallet. "Unless you don't want me to be?" She bit her lip and thought for a moment, but didn't wait for him to respond. "To be fair, I don't usually bring a man home to meet my parents in the middle of our first date."

"Well, I've never been on a date in an airport before, so I guess it's not that strange."

"Good."

"Good."

-o-


	3. The Girl In The Driver's Seat

The Girl in the Driver’s Seat

-o-

_There is never a time or place for true love. It happens accidentally, in a single heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment. - Sarah Dessen_

-o-

“How’re you plannin’ on gettin’ a taxi? Buses are done for the night, trains are shut down, and I couldn’t even hire a car.” He swung his duffel higher up on his shoulder and moved to roll her suitcase as she dug around in her purse.

“Oh, I’m not hiring a car…” Jemma trailed off as she unzipped a compartment with a ticket inside. “Ha!” She flashed the ticket in his face as they walked down the sidewalk. “My father left a car for me in a private garage so no one would have to pick me up.” She tilted her head to the side and moved to grab her luggage from him, and Fitz grinned as a brief tug-of-war ensued over who would get to roll it along. “Of course,” she remarked as she gave up and let him pull it behind him, “that was nearly a week ago. Hopefully it starts.” She must have felt Fitz’s gaze on her because she turned to look at him with a wide smile. “It will start.”

“Whatever you say,” he agreed, content to follow her the few city blocks to the private garage. He wasn’t going to complain about spending a little extra time with a gorgeous woman on Christmas Eve, even if they ended up stranded somewhere. He didn’t think that would be so bad.

When they arrived at the garage, Jemma passed the ticket over to an attendant who was busy spending his holiday doing Sudoku puzzles in a kid’s book. Fitz glanced down at the boxes when the man set the book aside and mentally filled in the squares. It took him seconds to complete the “easy” box on the page and he was about half way through the “medium” when the man passed keys over with a “Happy Holidays Mr. and Mrs. Simmons.”

Fitz was fairly certain every centimeter of visible skin on his body turned bright red at that. He’d never been mistaken for someone’s husband before. Jemma just smiled and said, “Thank you. You as well.”

The attendant then pointed above their heads with a waggle of his eyebrows. Jemma looked up first, giving an appreciative laugh at what she found.

“What?” Fitz craned his neck to look at the top of the booth, finding a green plastic sprig of leaves with little white flowers he was sure was meant to resemble mistletoe. “Oh.” His fingers let go of the handle on her suitcase and he stood very still, only his neck moving to better view Jemma.

“Merry Christmas,” she whispered as she took the two steps forward to mold them together, pressing a gentle kiss to his lower lip, barely giving him enough time to respond. Giving him a cheeky grin, she twirled the car keys in her hand and spun on her heel to locate the spot for the car.

“Yeah.”

Fitz trailed along behind her with their luggage as she searched for the correct number where her car would be. They followed the numbers up and up until she reached the next level.

“I take it you’re good with numbers,” she asked conversationally while they walked.

“How-”

“You were staring at the Sudoku page. And you’ve been giving me statistics since we met.”

She came to a sudden stop and he almost plowed into her, but halted himself just in time, taking a step back as she turned around to gesture they that they had reached the car.

“I’m pretty good with numbers, yeah.” Scratching the back of his neck nervously, Fitz lowered the handle of her suitcase with his other hand. “I’m an engineer.”

“Really?” She popped open the boot and regarded him with a new appreciation.

Fitz thought it was appreciation, anyway. She might not have been giving him the same appraising look when he struggled to lift her suitcase into the car though. He wouldn’t know since he refused to meet her eyes as he slung his own bag in beside hers, his breathing coming faster with the effort.

“Yeah.”

“What kind of things do you work on? Do you have experience with virtual environments?”

“What, like video games?”

“Yes, exactly.”

Fitz raised his eyebrows while she unlocked the car and climbed into the driver’s seat.

“I’ve played plenty o’ video games,” he told her as he opened the door and slipped into the other side. “Why?”

“Skye-”

“The texter.”

“Yes.” Jemma gave a slight laugh as she buckled herself in and put the key in the ignition. “Anyway, she designs video games for a tech group. She’s been having a problem getting this one area to work on the map she’s been making.”

“Are you offerin’ me a job for your friend?” He asked with a laugh of his own.

Jemma licked her lips and shrugged as she pulled the car out of the space. “How much of the Sudoku puzzle did you solve in the 90 seconds we were waiting?” She challenged him. When he didn’t answer, she told him, “you might find it fun.” As they drove, she explained that she worked in viral research, and that Skye had actually hired her on as a consultant to help develop the story for her new zombie virus video game.

Fitz watched Jemma as she explained the fictional zombie virus while she drove, her hands every so often animatedly leaving the steering wheel. He liked watching the lights from the traffic signals play over her face, the way she laughed when she made a mistake, or her nose scrunched up when she wasn’t sure she was explaining something well enough. They moved from the conceptual design of the video game on to discussions of an actual zombie apocalypse during the trip. Between the two of them, Fitz was fairly certain they could survive.

“How’s your aim?” Jemma teased at one point. “Think you’d be a good enough shot?”

Fitz pretended to think about it, deciding not to point out that he had a background in physics, and the principles on which guns operated were well within his wheelhouse. “I’m not bad… with a water pistol.”

When she pulled onto a quiet neighborhood street and ran a hand through her hair, he realized they were almost there.

“So…” he began, but stopped to draw in a breath, not entirely sure what to say next.

“So.” Jemma nodded her head, slowing the car to a crawl to prolong the last few moments of the drive. “There are a couple of things you should probably know.”

“Like what?”

“For starters, I told my parents my boyfriend couldn’t make it for the holidays because he was spending them with his family.” She tightened her grip on the steering wheel as she sped through her statement.

“Ah, so there’s a boyfriend.” Fitz mumbled the words, but he couldn’t help but think he should have known someone like Jemma would never actually be single.

“No, there’s no boyfriend,” she hurried to explain. “I just got tired of the questions about why I was still single.” She pursed her lips together. “But this is - I mean _you_ are -” She gave a frustrated huff before braking and turning to him. “I enjoyed our date. So far.” When she started to smile, he was fairly certain it was the most shy he’d seen her in their few interactions so far. “I just wanted you to be prepared that they might think we’ve known each other longer.”

“How long?”

She didn’t answer him.

“Jemma? How long?” He plucked at the sleeve of her sweater with one finger to get a response from her.

“I think I started lying to them four months ago? So at least that long?” She gave the little nose scrunch he’d come to love in the last 24 hours.

“Okay. Tha’s fine.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Okay, then.” Sighing in relief, she put her foot back on the gas pedal and began reciting a list of instructions for him for the night about her family. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard someone talk so quickly as she explained who liked which sport teams, what her father did for a living, which of her nieces still believed in Santa Claus, and that he should just avoid talking to her brother as much as possible. “He’s… difficult. Likes to pick at people.”

“Pick how?” Fitz was getting more nervous by the second as she parked on the side of the street and cut the engine.

“He’s… well… he’s the oldest. Used to giving orders, I guess?”

“Ah. Okay.”

“Ready?” She asked him, poised to jump out of the car, but clearly not going anywhere without him.

“Ready,” he affirmed, though his hand shaking slightly as he opened the door to the car made it clear that he wasn’t.

“You’ll be fine, Fitz.” When he moved to get their bags from the boot, she waved a gloved hand. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll get them later, after dinner.”

“What about the teapot?”

Jemma groaned as they both shut the doors to the car.

“You forgot it, didn’t you?” Fitz asked in amusement.

“Maybe they’ll have forgotten about it to. After all, I brought you instead,” she remarked, going for cheeky, but the way she chewed on her lip and brought her hands up to her neck after told him she was nervous.

He was never going to forget that one of their first conversations was about her having to bring a teapot home for Christmas and she managed to bring him home instead. He reached forward when they were standing next to one another on the walk-up and pulled her hands from her neck.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

When he didn’t let go of one of her hands right away, she linked their fingers together and took a step closer to him.  “I hope they don’t scare you off.”

“Impossible.” Fitz shook his head. At this point, nothing short of her family being a colony of serial killers would scare him off… probably.

She pulled him along up the walk, the two of them slipping and sliding on the iced over cement, laughing by the time they got to the door. Jemma grinned mischievously when they stopped, pointing above them with her free hand. The one occupied in his tightened around his fingers as she leaned forward.

“More mistletoe?” Fitz asked with a smirk without giving in to the impulse to check.

“It’s everywhere. It’s an epidemic,” she deadpanned.

“Well, I, for one, don’t want the bad luck you get if you don’t follow tradition.”

“You believe in luck?” she asked, moving ever closer to him. “I wouldn’t think someone with a scientific background would put much stock in luck.”

“You found me, didn’t you?” Fitz knew it was cheesy, but it was the truth, and he was rewarded for his words with one of the biggest smiles he’d seen from Jemma so far, just before she pressed up on her toes, grabbed his shoulder for leverage, and met his lips with her own. She wasn’t as gentle as she had been at the garage, like she was trying to prove a point this time, that the kiss was more than simply a holiday tradition. Fitz’s hand moved to her waist and pulled her as close as he could, his own mouth moving against hers, but just as she parted her lips, the door opened behind them and startled them both. They slid across the stoop, having to hold on to one another for support as they lost their footing.

“Mum!” Jemma exclaimed once they’d both righted themselves, managing to not fall over completely. “Merry Christmas!”

Considering Fitz had only known Jemma for about 24 hours, he didn’t really have any idea of what to expect from her family beyond what she’d told him during their very brief half-of-a-date so far. As she introduced him to her parents, her siblings, her nieces and nephews, and all the rest that were crammed into the house for the evening festivities, the first thing that popped into his head was that he didn’t realize that families could be so big. He also didn’t realize that they could be so nice when meeting an unexpected guest on a major holiday. And he didn’t realize that being festive could actually be fun.

There were lots of claps on the shoulders, firm handshakes, and even a few nearly bone crushing hugs that meant he had to let go of Jemma’s hand. Once their coats and gloves were deposited in a spare room downstairs, there were drinks in a parlor before dinner with a few snide comments from her brother that Fitz pointedly ignored. Jemma’s cheeks were almost as red as her father’s after her second very large glass of wine. Considering all of the beer they’d consumed earlier, he thought the wine was probably going straight to her head. Fitz, feeling bold after the evening they’d already spent together, slipped an arm around her waist while she was talking to her big sister, and he was rewarded for his move by Jemma scooting them a little closer to the entryway when the conversation was over.

She drained the last of her glass of wine before indicating he should look up.

“It really is an epidemic,” he remarked before leaning down and giving her one quick kiss so her niece, who was skipping over to them, didn’t make a fuss.

Jemma hummed and gave him a look that seemed to indicate she was expecting slightly more than what she got, but he just grinned and nodded his head as the little girl explained that dinner was ready.

Two hours later and Fitz found himself sipping tea in an exceptionally large armchair and trying to reassure the same little girl that Santa would find her, no matter where she was for Christmas.

“But how do you _know_?” She questioned from where she was sitting on the floor, her bright red skirt fanned out around her while she watched the family cat creeping ever closer to her.

“Fitz is very smart,” Jemma told her, trying to save him. At least, that’s what he thought she was doing until she added in a whisper while squeezing in next to him in the chair, “He happens to be the engineer who helped make Santa’s new sleigh go faster.”

“Jemma!” Fitz protested with a laugh. But when he saw the delight on the little girl’s face, he added, “tha’s supposed to be a secret.”

Jemma shrugged and stole the cup of tea from his hands to take a sip for herself. She kept it in her lap, her knees curling up into the seat to press against his thighs as the little girl peppered him with questions about presents and elves and reindeer.

“Does that mean you got to play with the reindeer?”

Fitz bit back a groan. “Reindeer aren’t as nice as you might think. You know what would be better? Flyin’ monkeys. They’d even be able to help with the gifts.”

Jemma snorted into the cup of tea when her niece’s eyes grew to the size of saucers.

“Did you see them fly?”

“Uh, no. ‘fraid not. Santa kept the magic all bottled up.” Fitz nodded earnestly, hoping he wasn’t going to be responsible for this girl ending up in therapy one day. Jemma finally took pity on him though before his storytelling got too far out of his own control.

“I think Gran has some cocoa in the kitchen if you’d like,” Jemma told her niece, her eyes shining. “With peppermint sticks.”

Fitz gave something of a sigh of relief when the little girl scampered off, intent on finding her next sugar high. He leaned back in the chair and ran one hand over his face while Jemma laughed.

“Enjoyed that, did you?”

“Oh, very much,” Jemma agreed. “We’ll have to think up some modifications to Santa’s sleigh to tell her about next year when you give it a tune up.”

“Next year?” Fitz echoed, his hands dropping to his lap to run over his jeans.

She shrugged. “Maybe. If you play your cards right.” She passed his mug of tea over to him.

“Thank you.”

“It’s your tea.”

“I didn’t mean for the tea,” Fitz admitted, playing with the handle of the mug while he stared down at it. “For this.”

“You’re having a good Christmas then?” Fitz nodded at her question and was ready to say more, but she went on to say, “That’s good. Because usually I’m dreadfully bored. Don’t get me wrong. I love my family. But it’s always just questions about why I’m not dating anyone, if I’ve met anyone, why I don’t bring someone home…” She trailed off.

“My mum’s the same,” Fitz told her. “I only get to see her once a year though, so I let her rib me for not givin’ her grand kids yet.” He laughed. “Glad I could help you avoid it… at least until they start askin’ when the wedding is.”

“You know,” Jemma whispered in his ear as she scooted as close as possible in the big armchair, “I could repay the favor tomorrow.”

“What?” Fitz was preoccupied with watching Jemma’s niece try to catch the family cat again, her cup of cocoa already forgotten.

“Well, I’ve got the car. It will obviously take a little longer, but if your flight is still grounded in the morning, I could go with you. For Christmas.”

She was whispering the words like she was sharing the most salacious of secrets with him, a lilting tease to her voice, but when Fitz turned his head to look at her, her eyes were downcast and she was biting her lip, betraying her nerves at asking him.

“I’m startin’ to think you _really_ like me,” Fitz teased her, an arm moving around her shoulders when her sister glanced over at them.

“I should think that would be obvious by now,” Jemma stated matter-of-factly.

“It’s always jus’ me an’ my mum for Christmas,” Fitz started to explain.

“Oh. I don’t want to intrude.” She gave a crinkle of her nose as she looked up at him, but he pressed his fingers reassuringly into her shoulder.

“I think my mum would like you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

When she smiled at him again, Fitz didn’t bother pretending there was any mistletoe above them, just leaned forward to give her a lingering kiss.

“I’ll warn you though,” Jemma breathed against his lips. “I have very high expectations for this second date. I pulled out all the stops for our first date - meeting you in an airport, saving you from spending the night there, a homecooked meal that was only slightly overcooked, complete with promoting you to Santa’s official engineer.” She paused for effect. “And I’m getting a cross country trip to meet your mum? I expect lots of family secrets and baby pictures to be exposed. Also, cake. Minimum, there should be cake.”

“I can make tha’ happen,” Fitz agreed, not moving away.

“Good.” She pressed her lips to his again, her hands snaking along his waist to wrap around him before she pulled her head back just enough to lean against his shoulder.

Fitz took a sip from his tea and looked around the room. It didn’t really matter what happened tomorrow, he decided, because it was already his favorite holiday.

-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this brings us to the end! Thanks for reading guys. In case you missed the tumblr note, this was a holiday gift for StarryDreamer, who gave me the prompt, and notapepper was kind enough to beta for me.


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